Something Like Fate
by dudeurfugly
Summary: Herrmann and the rest of Firehouse 51 are visited by a young woman who owes her life to him. Otis decides to share her story in one of his podcasts, which might be his way of trying to spend more time with her. And it kind of works. Otis/OC because there aren't any!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except the OC, of course.**

**A/N: You can blame pesky plot bunnies for this one. Also, finding fic that's focused on Herrmann, Mouch, and Otis is difficult around here, so I thought I'd go for it because I adore them. These chapters won't be lengthy (almost vignette-like) but that will hopefully allow for quicker updates and an easy, fun read. I enjoyed sketching a plot for this. I hope you enjoy reading!**

* * *

"Let me do it this time."

"We rolled for it, fair and square, so it's _clearly_ my turn."

"You've done it twice already."

"I don't tell the dice how to fall. It's just the way it happened—basic probability. What are you going to do, pout?"

"I'm not—"

"Hey," Herrmann finally snapped. "We playing or what? I'm getting gray hairs listening to you two."

"You sure there's hair left to go gray?" Otis asked.

Herrmann fixed him with a glare. "Funny," he said. "Can we get on with this, Mouch?"

Shay had walked into the break room unnoticed mid-argument and had let it continue while she stood eating a portion of Dawson's infamous macaroni and cheese from the doorway. The three of them were seated around the large table with a Monopoly board at the center, colorful money and game pieces scattered between them. Shay had no idea where the game had come from, but it was a dangerous thing to bring into this place. Obviously, they needed to be reminded of The Great Monopoly Showdown of '09, written into the rumor and legend of Firehouse 51.

The record was a week and five hours.

It nearly ruined friendships and someone broke a finger.

"I thought Chief banned Monopoly," Shay said at last around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese.

She was positive Chief Boden had carefully disposed of the game after the aforementioned broken finger incident. Which put Monopoly on a list of other banned games that included Uno, Mario Kart, and strip poker.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt 'im." Herrmann shrugged.

"Where'd you get the board?"

"Some teacher dropped it off," Otis said.

He watched Mouch sort the colorful array of fake money with the air of a practiced accountant, eyeing the position of Banker enviously. He frowned and moved his game piece to the start. Shay realized that some of the tokens were missing and they had resorted to using random objects as fill-ins. Herrmann's token was a stray bottle cap and she was pretty sure Mouch was making do with part of a Lego.

Her eyes widened, another forkful of macaroni paused midway to her mouth. "Wait. It's not _the_ Monopoly board, is it?"

"Nah, it can't be," Herrmann said.

"Chief said he donated it to a school," Shay reasoned.

"Yeah, okay, but why would they give it back four years later?" Otis asked.

"Bad Karma," Mouch said. He pointed accusingly at the game with his index finger. "There was bloodshed on this board."

"Ah, come on, it's not ours," Herrmann protested. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't know, man," Shay said. "It's giving off major angry vibes."

Otis laughed, disbelieving. "It's Monopoly, Shay, not a Ouija board."

Shay approached the table and set her bowl of macaroni and cheese down, fork still in hand. When Mouch made a sly effort to seize it for himself—bitter that Dawson said she wouldn't share, but yet she offered bowls full of it to Shay without a fight—Shay smacked the back of his hand and gave him a very territorial look. She picked up the cover of the box. It had been ravaged by school children, no ounce of mercy shown to it. The corners were ripped and reinforced with masking tape and there were crayon scribbles and dents all over. Shay ran her fingers across a generic 'Great Work!' sticker stuck to the underside of the flimsy cardboard.

"Did you check the inside?" she asked. Shay lifted the cover up to her face to inspect the perimeter. "_OH MY GOD! NO WAY!_"

"What?" the three of them questioned.

Shay poked at the seam of the cover. "Here!" she shouted. "Right here! See? 'Firehouse 51.' How did you not catch this?"

Herrmann let out an frustrated sigh. "Of course it's cursed. Comin' back to bite us all right in the ass."

Mouch shoved the pile of money away from him. "I knew there was something off about it."

"I say we burn it," Otis said.

"Oh, hey, Monopoly," Mills shouted, a huge grin on his face as he stepped into the room. "I haven't played since—"

"Shhh!" Shay said, a finger to her lips. She almost pounced on him to keep quiet.

"Don't go announcing it to the whole house," Mouch warned. He started to pile the pieces back into the box. It was more of a hurried effort to get the thing out of his sight rather than an orderly clean up job. "You saw _nothing_, candidate."

"Why?" Mills asked, an eyebrow raised. "What's the big deal?"

"He doesn't know about The Great M—" Otis was cut off by Shay hollering at him to shut up.

Poor Mills looked between the four of them, confused, his arms folded in front of his chest. He didn't realize a simple family game could cause such an uproar. It was clear that he had a lot to learn yet about the history of Firehouse 51. He already knew they were a superstitious bunch, for the most part, but this was reaching new heights of insanity.

"We'll speak of it once this is out of the house," Herrmann decided. "Can't afford any bad luck."

"All right, forget I asked," Mills said. He made a mental note to ask someone else later on. Maybe someone who was less likely to react with such unexplained violence and secrecy. Instead, he jabbed a thumb behind him. "Herrmann, there's a visitor for you."

"Who is it?" he asked.

"I don't know, I'm just the messenger."

* * *

Herrmann didn't know what to expect upon entering the truck bay. He had a brief thought that maybe his wife had surprised him with lunch from his favorite dive—the one they frequented back in the days of their first dates, owned by people who knew them by name and had memorized Herrmann's order. If she wasn't dropping lunch or dinner off, Cindy sometimes stopped by with the kids for awhile when they had a short school day. It was always a welcomed change of pace; his schedule was chaos and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like letting his little rascals loose in the house on occasion to brighten things up.

Mouch, Otis, and Shay had followed him in, partly because they were nosy and partly to get as far away from the offending Monopoly game as possible. Shay was still shoveling macaroni and cheese into her mouth much to Mouch's not-so-discreet jealousy. Herrmann didn't find his wife or children—truthfully, he would have heard them before he saw them—but he did notice a young girl, probably around eighteen, talking to Casey and Dawson by one of the trucks. She wore a bright pink raincoat and had a polka dot umbrella sticking out from the backpack on one of her shoulders. Her light brown hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, disheveled somewhat from the rain and wind. She gestured animatedly to Casey and Dawson while she spoke, an easy, charming smile on her face.

"Oh, she's adorable," Shay whispered.

Otis shook his head, a hand on his hip. "Must you do that?"

"What?" Shay asked. She threw her arm up in the air like a half shrug and almost stabbed Otis with her fork. "She's cute. It was a compliment, not an invitation to my bed."

"Sure didn't sound that way."

Herrmann rolled his eyes and evaded the constant friendly bickering around him by making his way over to the newcomer. Dawson caught sight of him first and touched the young girl's arm lightly, nodding at him. The girl greeted him with an enthusiastic grin as Otis, Shay, and Mouch gathered around.

"Christopher Herrmann?" she asked.

"That'd be me," Herrmann said, returning the smile.

"Lena Nichols," she introduced. "You probably don't remember me, but I was the baby you helped deliver during a snowstorm."

* * *

**A/N: Partially inspired by Casey's first baby delivery. Couldn't resist. Drop me a review on your way out! P.S. - I'll try to get an update of 'Blackbird' later in the week. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Except Lena. **

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews/follows/favorites! Spread the love for this awesome trio! **

* * *

It took Herrmann a moment to allow the information to register. He had been on the job for a long time and saw a lot of things, both good and bad. He learned about twice as many names as he could remember, but depending on the situation, he never forgot some of them. It hurt to recall the ones who couldn't be saved—especially the kids. As a father, those calls stung and stayed put for weeks on end, even when he tried not to bring attention to them. And then there were calls like Lena's and the car wreck where Casey delivered a baby, too, and those seemed to balance out all the awful ones. Seeing Lena standing in front of him was a reminder of how far he'd come as a firefighter and all the good he'd done.

"Lena! 'Course I remember you," Herrmann said, laughing. He pulled her into a hug, which she returned, the grin still plastered on her face. He held her at arm's length, eyes narrowed.

"Last time we saw each other, you were just a tiny little thing. Look at this, huh? You make me feel old, kiddo."

"It's great to finally meet you," Lena said. "I mean—formally."

"You surprised the hell out of me," Herrmann said. "Wow." He slung an arm around her shoulders. "So how old _are_ ya now?"

"Nineteen," Lena replied. Herrmann let out a low whistle. "I just moved back to start college over at Loyola."

"_College_?" Herrmann exclaimed. "Holy sh—it's been more than awhile, then, hasn't it?"

"Just a bit," she chuckled. "Mom always said she felt bad about losing touch with everyone here."

"How's your mom doing?"

"Great. She's back in Cincinnati," she explained. "We moved there when I was about five so my memories of Chi-Town are rusty. If she knew I managed to track you down, she'd flip."

Herrmann gathered her to him for another half-hug and gestured to the group, which had grown since their little reunion. Mills, Severide, and Boden had sauntered on over to where they stood, Boden wearing a fond smile. It was hard not to, considering Herrmann was somewhere in between sheepish and extraordinarily proud. Lena had caught him off guard, but he had instantly welcomed her like she was a long lost child. In a way, she was. Herrmann's show of absolute joy rubbed off on everyone else by association like a break in the clouds on a dreary day.

"Ah, right, sorry," he said, as if realizing he wasn't the only one in the room, "Lena, this is the team. You met Lieutenant Matt Casey…Gabriela Dawson, one of our EMT's, Chief Boden—"

Boden pushed through the group to shake Lena's hand. "Nice to finally put a face to Herrmann's story," he said. "Welcome back to Chicago."

"Thank you, sir."

"Leslie Shay, another paramedic," Herrmann continued. Shay, who had finished the last portion of her lunch at last, offered a wave. "Lieutenant Kelly Severide, head of the rescue squad…" Severide shook Lena's hand. "And firefighters Joe Cruz, Mouch—"

"Mouch?" Lena's eyebrow went up, uncertain.

"It's just a moniker. Easier to remember," Mouch said. "You'll get used to it."

"And Otis," Herrmann said as Otis stepped forward, hand outstretched. He, however, was quick to correct him for the sake of clarity.

"_Brian_," Otis affirmed. "Brian Zvonecek. They call me Otis. They won't stop calling me Otis, whether I like it or not."

"Damn straight," Casey said.

Lena shook Otis' hand. "Oh! I know you," she said. "You're the one with the podcasts. I was hoping I'd see you."

The look of surprise that crossed Otis' face was so priceless that Shay had to suppress a snort. His mouth hung open a bit before he remembered to close it and tried, desperately, to speak in coherent sentences. At first, while the shocked disbelief dissolved into pleasant astonishment, nothing happened. Then he realized he'd been shaking her hand for too long for it not to be somewhat creepy and let it go. He sputtered and cursed inwardly for making himself look like an incompetent moron.

"I—really?" he asked. "How did you…find them? I honestly didn't think anyone listened."

"I was in between classes on my laptop and decided to do some searching around for Mr. Herrmann. And, through the powers of Google, I found your podcasts. You mentioned Herrmann once, and long story short, I ended up here. So, I think I owe you a huge thank you, too."

Otis rubbed the back of his neck, for lack of a better response. He shrugged. "Well, glad I could help."

"You free to stick around?" Herrmann asked. The group began to move their separate ways, back to the break room or wherever else, in a lighter mood. Otis stayed behind, waiting for the opportunity to make a request. "It'd be great to catch up."

"I wish I could," Lena said. She looked conflicted. "I've got class. But my schedule's reasonable—thankfully."

"Anytime you want to drop by, the door's open," he said. "We'd love to have you. Chief don't mind. It's not a hip college hangout or anything…"

"I don't think I've been in a firehouse since I was a kid," Lena said. "It's a lot more roomy than my dorm. I appreciate the invitation."

She dug into the pocket of her raincoat and removed her cell phone. "Do you mind if we get a picture? I guarantee you my mom would love it."

"Yeah, why not?" he replied. "Come 'ere. Hey, Otis, can you take it?"

Otis nodded and grabbed Lena's phone. Herrmann stood beside her, one arm around her shoulders. When both of them were grinning, he snapped a photo.

"We're good," Otis said with a thumbs-up. He handed Lena's phone back. And then he hesitated for a moment.

"Y'know," he started, "I never heard Herrmann's story about you. I think it'd make a cool podcast. I mean, if it's okay with you. It's just, I did one, and I mentioned Casey's baby delivery, and I don't know, it might be kind of awesome if you and Herrmann did a thing kind of parallel to—"

Otis could hear himself rambling into oblivion and yet he couldn't stop. He was so very thankful when she interrupted.

"Yeah! I'm definitely in," Lena told him.

"If you don't want to—"

"No, I'd be honored," Lena said. "Seriously, it's no big deal. It's the least I can do since you kind of orchestrated this whole reunion."

"Indirectly," Otis replied. "I can't take all the credit."

Lena chuckled. "I'll probably be back here sometime later this week if I can get away from campus."

"Great," Otis said. "I'll set it up."

Herrmann knew exactly what was happening here. At least from Otis' end. He stepped almost between them and tried his best not to look too concerned.

Otis took the not-so-subtle hint from Herrmann, who had for whatever reason gone into protective father mode. He knew Herrmann's parenting style had about three general settings—overprotective/loving, annoyed/authoritative to the point of harmless, empty threats, and doting Father of the Year. And to be honest, Otis found his overprotective mode to be quite scary. One did not cross Papa Bear Herrmann unless they were looking to get thrown into a world of hurt. It was good to be on the opposite side; Herrmann's protectiveness wasn't just reserved for his wife and kids, it branched out to everyone at the firehouse. Otis made a mental note to be careful about why he'd suddenly forgot how to act like an intelligent human being in Lena's presence while he was around Herrmann.

"Anyway," Otis drawled. "Nice meeting you."

"You, too."

He decided this was way worse than meeting his first girlfriend's father. Before things got more awkward, he waved at Lena and shuffled off to the break room to kick himself over his stupidity.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked the second installment. Drop me a line on the way out!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just Lena. **

**A/N: Since it was asked: Lena is 19, Otis is about 25, so their age gap is only six years. Tumblr was down, which is why there's another new chapter. I'm having a lot of fun with this fic, and it seems my muse is, too. Hope you like reading it!**

* * *

Lena sat in the middle of her bed, legs crossed with her laptop in front of her while she put the finishing touches on an essay that was due for her Psychology class tomorrow. She had the room to herself, music from their shared iPod dock playing softly in the background. If Lena was being completely honest with herself, she was less interested in the essay and more focused on meeting the minimum word count so she could hightail it off campus to Firehouse 51. Lena had been meaning to get there sooner, but a week had passed, full of tests to study for and term papers to research and one very interesting common room party fueled by sleep deprivation. She'd spent an inordinate amount of time in the library with a few of her floor mates, living off junk food and setting up camp there in a private study room. With finals approaching in a little over a month, Lena knew it was only going to get worse—she'd heard all the horror stories from the upperclassmen who'd progressed from agonizing over every academic detail to simply not giving a shit.

It was a Friday, and Lena knew if any of them had to crack open another book or perfect some kind of intricate citation format, they'd go crazy. Hanging around the firehouse seemed like an excellent reprieve, especially since Gabriela, the paramedic she'd met, had promised home-cooked meals. She hadn't really eaten anything beside dining hall food and instant macaroni and cheese or Spaghetti O's in a few months. She sorely missed her mother's cooking. It was kind of odd to her how easily they'd welcomed her in, but Lena guessed they took pity on the college student miles from home on a tight budget. And maybe, Herrmann's past heroic deed had something to do with it. In any case, it was nice of them to offer. Her mother waxed poetic about the kindness of firefighters. Lena came to the conclusion that her mother, as with most things, was right.

And as expected, her mother called her the moment she had received the picture of her and firefighter Christopher Herrmann together. That phone call had involved a lot of her mother repeating herself, saying how she couldn't believe Lena had tracked him down. Lena could almost see her shaking her head in between laughs and exclamations of disbelief. She also made it clear that now she _had_ to come to Chicago to visit.

"Oh, sure," Lena had giggled, "You'll come here to visit the firefighters and not your _only daughter _who's away from home for the first time?"

"Hush, you," her mother said. "You know this house is way too quiet without you around."

"Buy a condo like other parents do when their kids finally leave the nest?"

"Okay," her mom answered, a note of sarcasm in her voice, "then what'll I do when you come home during the summer? Hmm? We'd get on each other's nerves cooped up in a tiny place like that."

"You're talking like this doesn't happen already," Lena told her. "Why don't you just move back here, then?"

"We'll see. Tell Herrmann I said hello. I'll be waiting eagerly for that podcast."

Lena smiled at the memory of their conversation. She skimmed through her document, checking for typos and adding a last-minute edit here and there. Satisfied, she saved her essay, closed up her laptop, and pushed it aside. Lena stretched out her back and climbed off her bed, kicking aside a pair of shoes and a binder. Her dorm room, which she shared with one other girl, was on the brink of becoming a bit hazardous. Things had started off tidy enough, but it only was a matter of time before the space was overrun with piles of clothes, textbooks, stray papers, and everything else in between. At least her bed had been made. It was a start.

She was about to pull on her raincoat when she heard an enthusiastic knock on her door.

"Hey, Lena!" a voice called, muffled from the other side. "Open up."

"Hold on a sec," she answered.

Lena slid into her raincoat and swept her hair to the side. She tugged open the door to her room and a dark-skinned girl who was a few inches taller than her walked in, trailed by a second girl with glasses, her hair in a messy bun. The former, Madison, lived down the hall, while the tall girl in glasses, Avery, lived two floors below. Madison and Lena had met in a History course during their first semester and had bonded over the mind-numbing lectures. Avery had joined them with her outgoing and loud personality by nature—and after a particularly lively Blackhawks game in the common room.

Madison sunk down onto Lena's bed, while Avery made herself at home tweaking the iPod dock to find a song to her liking.

"A bunch of us are heading out to grab dinner somewhere that isn't here," Madison explained.

"I hope that somewhere has milkshakes," Avery said. "PMS is a bitch."

"…But it looks like you're already halfway out the door," Madison finished, dodging Avery's input.

"Ah, yeah," Lena said. "I'd go with you, but I've got somewhere I need to be."

Avery started dancing where she stood and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. She shimmied her way over to where Lena was and attempted to pull off a move that was straight out of _Dirty Dancing_.

"Oooh, does Miss Lena have a hot date? I demand details."

"It's not a date."

"Pfft, please, we still want to know everything," Madison said. "And you'll need to work harder than that to convince me it's not a date."

"It's not!"

"Keep trying," Avery said. She plopped down next to Madison. "So? Details. Bring it."

Lena sighed. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat, she leaned against the side of her desk.

"All right. If you _must _know, I'm going over to the firehouse. I went there last week and it turned out the Herrmann that works there is the same firefighter who helped my mom when I was born."

"Wait, so you went there and didn't tell us?" Madison asked. "Way to go, Lena. It's not like we didn't listen to the podcasts with you. Next time keep us informed about these things!"

"I didn't think it'd be that exciting to you," Lena said.

"You walked into a firehouse without us," Avery replied. "Were any of them handsome? If there were attractive firefighters present, I'm going to be jealous."

"Possibly," Lena said, laughing. She moved out the way as Avery hurtled a pillow at her out of contempt. "Anyway, Otis asked if I could do a podcast. You know, just to share my story. And I said I'd be fine with it."

Madison smacked Avery in the arm, her mouth agape. "_You have a date with Podcast Guy_? Lena Christine Nichols, this is the kind of stuff _you share with your friends_, okay?"

"It's _not_ a date," Lena groaned.

"Is Podcast Guy cute?" Avery looked thoughtful. "Because he sounded cute. And, umm, no need to remind you, but I think _you_ were the one who pointed that out."

It was clear that Lena wasn't going to be able to tactfully avoid this conversation. She knew her friends were relentless.

"Yes," Lena muttered.

"What was that? I can't hear you," Madison teased, tossing a second pillow in her direction.

"Yeah, he's cute, all right?" Lena said. "But it's still not a date."

"Whatever, keep telling yourself that," Avery answered. "You sound like a broken record."

"Well, we're going to eat," Madison decided. She climbed off the bed and dragged Avery to her feet. "And you're spilling everything later."

* * *

Lena felt somewhat out of place, but she supposed the open-door invitation gave her every right to be at the firehouse. Still, it didn't make it any less weird to her as she stepped through the side entrance and found herself in a maze of hallways. She lingered in the middle of one of them and let the warmth return to her fingers. She hadn't had the opportunity last time to venture out of the truck bay; the rest of the firehouse had a distinct institutional vibe going on, kind of like a hospital or a dentist's office, but its more lived-in qualities made it a lot more appealing. Lena shrugged and figured she'd find her way eventually, so she started walking.

She was halfway to the break room, following the echo of voices, when a dog came at a brisk run straight toward her. The dog, an adorable thing with white-and-brown spotted fur, skidded across the tiled floor and came to a sudden halt in front of Lena. Barking, the dog jumped up and down around her feet until Lena crouched to meet it.

"Hey, there," she said. Lena scratched behind its ears once it sat down. "You're a friendly little guy."

"Girl," someone cut in. Lena glanced up to see Otis standing in the hall wearing a baseball cap backwards on his head, jet black hair poking out from underneath. He tossed a tennis ball between his hands. "Pouch is a girl, actually."

"Oops," Lena said. "My mistake. Sorry about that, Pouch."

He waved it off and dropped his voice into a whisper, a hand against his cheek to talk out of the side of his mouth. "I think it's okay. I don't think you offended her."

Lena pulled herself to a standing position. "Well, that's good. I'd hate to make an awful first impression."

"But," he drawled, "just to be safe, I'll give you a tip. Throw this down the hall and I swear she'll be your best friend."

He threw the tennis ball to her. Pouch got up, eager, watching Lena switch it from palm to palm. She deliberately reeled her arm back while Pouch followed the ball with her eyes, gearing up for the chase.

"Ready?" Lena asked.

Pouch barked, impatient. Lena released the ball and it sailed through the air, bouncing off the tile before it rolled the rest of the way down. Pouch sprinted after it, paws clicking against the floor. They both watched her scramble for it.

"I hope it's okay, me showing up like this," she said. "I wanted to get here sooner, but with school—"

"Don't even worry about it. We're all pretty chill around here," Otis replied. "Unexpected house calls are kinda our thing."

Dawson peered around the corner of the break room. "Lena," she called. "I thought I heard voices. For a second I figured it was just this idiot talking to himself."

Otis pivoted on a heel to face her, one hand gesturing to himself. "What are you even—I don't talk to myself."

"You run a podcast," Dawson stated, eyebrow arched.

"Yeah, but I'm not talking to myself, it's me addressing my _audience_," Otis said. "There's a clear difference here."

"Sure," Dawson answered. She motioned for Lena to come into the break room. "Come on in, Lena. Mills and I made homemade burgers and we've got extra. Have a seat."

"I feel bad if I'm interrupting dinner," Lena replied.

Nearly everyone she had met the week previous were situated around tables or sitting in chairs with plates full of food. It was quiet except for some snippets of conversation—not unusual for mealtime, especially amongst a group of men. Lena could never hear herself think when eating in the dining hall, but crowded in a dorm with her friends, everyone was silent in the presence of food.

"Not at all, are you kidding? Grab a plate," Dawson said.

"Lena," Herrmann shouted. He sat at a large table in between Joe Cruz and Shay. "Better grab one while they're hot. These guys around anything edible? It'll be gone before you can blink."

Lena found herself sitting at a table with them, eating one of the best cheeseburgers she'd ever tasted in her life, while the team started reminiscing about some kind of Monopoly tournament that they'd had a few years ago. From what Lena could gather, it was quite the battle, and it almost tore apart the tightly-knit friendships formed in the house. She wondered if that was an exaggeration or not. Apparently, this had stemmed from someone bringing the Monopoly board back to 51 last week after a series of odd coincidences. Herrmann assured her—and Chief Boden, who had banned Monopoly from their house—the board had been confiscated.

"We incinerated that bastard," Otis said. "Felt good, too, I gotta say. Kind of cleansing experience. An exorcism, if you will."

"So, it really lasted a week and five hours?" she asked.

"A week and five hours we can never get back," Boden corrected. "Listenin' to all of you tear at each other's throats over fake money. I had to put an end to it once Severide broke his finger."

"You had to bring that back up," Severide cut in. Shay laughed and patted his arm apologetically.

"How…did that happen?" Lena inquired. "If I can ask?"

"Oh, I wouldn't," Shay said.

"Well, it's more subjective than anything," Mouch said. "Which is the better way of saying we can't agree on what actually happened. Over time, it's become so convoluted that it's almost mythological. Severide will tell you_ I_ did it—"

"Hell yeah, you did. I—"

"_But_," Mouch interrupted, "but, I will not corroborate with his story on the grounds of my own personal integrity. Because it's a damn lie. And everyone knows it's Otis who broke Severide's finger."

Otis looked horribly affronted. Lena couldn't help but stifle a laugh. "Throw me under the bus, why don't you?" he yelled. And then he swore in another language Lena couldn't translate.

"We only say it was Otis because he had the unfortunate opportunity to be the candidate at the time," Casey said to Lena.

"Yeah, yeah, pick on the new guy," Otis grumbled. "Why don't you blame Mills? That'd make as much sense as the rest of the story. I don't need to listen to this. I have a podcast to record."

* * *

**A/N: Drop me a review so I know how I'm doing! Thanks, guys!**


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